A Winter's Wedding by Sharon Owens

basket of shopping. Beetroot slices and red wine splattered all over her shoes! She was mortified, as well as reeking of vinegar and Merlot! And by the time I’d helped her pick everything up, and dried her off a bit, we’d got chatting. And it turns out she was looking for a new assistant. And we sort of clicked, so she gave me the job. And I’ve worked my way up from general dogsbody to chief features writer. So that’s my story. My degree is in English.’
    ‘Good for you. It must be great fun working on a magazine.’
    ‘It’s okay.’
    ‘Oh, it must be really exciting sometimes.’
    ‘Not really exciting. I meet the odd celebrity – “odd” being the operative word – but I love the work, it suits me. It’s steady and predictable and I don’t have all that much to worry about – just praying the car doesn’t conk out when I’m ten miles down some tiny lane in Dorset. I’m a simple girl with simple tastes.’
    ‘I don’t believe that for one second.’
    ‘I am.’
    ‘Let’s wait and see, shall we?’
    For Dylan suspected there was a lot more to Emily than met the eye.
    At that moment the door swung open. An old man wearing a tweed jacket came shuffling into the shop and wanted to know if they had any cloth caps for sale. His head was freezing, he told them, since he’d left his old cap on the bus by accident.
    ‘It’s your lucky day, sir.’
    Dylan was able to show him a small selection from a drawer beneath the counter.
    ‘Nice and clean they look,’ the man said.
    ‘These caps have all been dry-cleaned,’ Dylan assured him. ‘My sister is the owner manager here and she runs a tight ship, let me tell you.’
    The man chose a cap and paid for it, delighted at the low price. ‘Great job,’ he said, putting the cap on and shuffling out again. ‘I shall tell my mates about this place.’
    ‘And another satisfied customer,’ Dylan said happily.
    ‘You’re good at this retail lark,’ Emily said, smiling at him. ‘You make it feel like it’s a real shop. I mean, not like a charity shop. There’s no air of melancholy in here – you know, the way there is in most charity shops?’
    ‘Thanks, Emily. I know the place isn’t much to look at now, but one day soon it’ll be a great attraction. That’s what Sylvia reckons. She wants to focus mainly on vintage clothes eventually. Obviously we need anything and everything right now to get started up, but then she’s going to gradually phase out the bric-a-brac and sell only the good stuff.’
    ‘Sounds amazing,’ Emily said.
    ‘Yes, amazing is the word I was thinking of too,’ he said, looking very intently at Emily’s face.
    Emily had the strangest feeling Dylan was going to kiss her. He was gazing at her lips and she had a lovely, woozy feeling. Her eyes were almost closing in anticipation. He leaned in towards her and his breathing slowed right down. Emily’s breathing, on the other hand, speeded up to such an extent she thought she was going to hyperventilate. His breath smelt of minty toothpaste and chocolate biscuits. But just then Sylvia came bustling in through the door with another box of donated goods that she’d managed to collect from friends and family, and the romantic spell was broken.
    ‘Hi there, you sweet little pair of lovebirds,’ she teased.
    ‘Don’t worry, I am still on duty,’ Dylan said, standing up and making a salute.
    ‘Yes, he just sold a cloth cap,’ Emily added in a weak voice.
    ‘A cloth cap, you say? Ha, we’re in the money at last,’ Sylvia grinned.
    Dylan went to help Sylvia carry her booty through to the storeroom. And Emily felt her lovely, woozy feeling slowly evaporate.
    ‘I’d better be getting back,’ Emily said, getting up and reaching for her coat. ‘Thanks for the tea, Dylan.’
    Sylvia smiled at them and then surveyed the two mismatched mugs and half-eaten packet of biscuits on the counter.
    ‘Chocolate biscuits, I see? Broken biscuits – but they taste just as good, I